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THE BOOK OF THE ROSE 



Works of 

Charles 6* D* Roberts 

The Kindred of the Wild 

The Heart of the Ancient Wood 

Barbara Ladd 

The Forge in the Forest 

A Sister to Evangeline 

Earth's Enigmas 

The Marshes of Minas 

A History of Canada 

The Book of the Rose 

Poems 

New York Nocturnes 

The Book of the Native 

In Divers Tones 

Songs of the Common Day {otit of print) 

L. C PAGE & COMPANY 

New England Building 

Boston, Mass. 



The 

Book of the Rose 



By 

Charles Gf'Dr^oberts 

Author of " The Kindred of the Wild;' " The Heart of 

the Ancient Wood,''' " Barbara Ladd^' 

" Poems,'' etc. 




Boston 
L. C. Page &- Company 



i'9C<3 



/ ' • / ' ' j i ' i ' ' I 1 1 ' ' I j i ■ I \ 



THt LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 


Two Copies Received 


JUN 6 «903 


^ Copyright Entry 
CfllASS L XXc No. 
COPY B. 






Copyright, igoo, 190 1, by 
The Curtis Publishing Company 

Copyright, 1900, by 
The Criterion Publishing Company 

Cop3rright, igoi, by 
The Century Company 

Copyright, 1901, 1902, by 
The Outlook Company 

Copyright, 1900, 1901, 1902, by 
The Ess Ess Publishing Company 

Copyright, 1901, by 
J. B. Lippincott Company 

Copyright, 1901, 1902, by 
The Frank A. Munsey Company 

Copyright, 1902, by 
Harper and Brothers 

Copyright, 1903, by 
L. C. Page & Company (Incorporated) 

A II rights reserved 



Published, June, 1903 



(fToIontsI ^ress 

Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. 

Bt)Ston,'Mas6.i«U.5. A. 



CONTENTS 

I. 

Page 

The Book of the Rose 

On the Upper Deck 3 

O Little Rose, O Dark Rose 11 

The Rose of My Desire 13 

How Little I Knew 15 

The Rose's Avatar 18 

The Covert 19 

The Rose of Life 20 

The Fear of Love 23 

The Wisdom of Love 25 

Away, Sad Voices 28 

Attar 29 

Invocation 31 

The House 34 

II. 

Miscellaneous Poems 

The Stranded Ship 39 

The Pipers of the Pools ....... 46 



CONTENTS 



Page 

The First Ploughing 49 

The Native 52 

Coal 55 

New Dead 56 

Child of the Infinite 58 

A Remorse 61 

The Conspirators 62 

Heat in the City 64 

The Great and the Little Weavers . . . . 66 

Lines for an Omar Punch-Bowl 70 

Shepherdess Fair 73 

The Piper and the Chiming Peas . . . . 75 

When Mary the Mother Kissed the Child . 77 

At the Wayside Shrine 79 

The Aim 82 



PART I. 
THE BOOK OF THE ROSE 



ON THE UPPER DECK. 

As the will of last year's wind^ 
As the drift of the morrow's rain^ 
As the goal of the falling star^ 
As the treason sinned in vain^ 
As the how that shines and is gone.. 
As the night cry heard no more — 
Is the way of the woman's meaning 
Beyond man's eldest lore. 

HE. 

This hour to me is like a rose just open, 
The wonder of its golden heart not yet 
Fully revealed. So long I've waited for it, 
Prefigured it in dream, and scourged my hope 
3 



ON THE UPPER DECK 

With fear lest jealous fortune should deny, 
That now I hardly dare — Am I awake ? 
Can it be true I have you here beside me ? 
Can it be true I have you here alone — 
Most wonderfully alone among these strangers 
Who seem to me like senseless shapes of air ? — 
The throb of the great engines, the obscure 
Hiss of the water past our speeding hull 
Seem to enfold and press you closer to me. 
No, do not move ! Alone although we be, 
I dare not touch your hand ; your gown's dear 

hem 
I will not touch lest I should break my dream 
And just an empty deck-chair mock my longing. 
But (for the beggar may in dreams be king). 
Oh, let your eyes but touch me, let my spirit 
But drink, but drain, but bathe in their deep 

light. 
And slake its cherished anguish. Look at me ! 



ON THE UPPER DECK 
SHE. 

Look how the water's waiting holds the sky ! 
I think I never saw the Sound so still. 
That wash of beryl green, that melting violet, 
That fine rose-amber veiling deeps of glory 
Our eyes could not endure — how each is 

doubled. 
Lest we should miss some marvel of strange 

tone, 
And be forever poor. Such beauty seems 
To cry like violins. Hush, and you'll hear it. 
Don't look at me when God is at his miracles. 

HE. 

He topped all miracle in making you. 

Your mouth, your throat, your eyes, your 

hands, your hair — 
To look at these is harps within my soul. 
The music of the stars at Time's first morning. 
5 



ON THE UPPER DECK 

How can I see the wide, familiar world 
When all my being drowns in your deep eyes ? 
What is the maddest sunset to your eyes ? 
Let us not talk of sunsets. 



SHE. 

Soon this rose 
Of incommunicable light will fade, 
Its ultimate petals sinking in the sea. 
Be still, and watch the vaster bloom unfold 
Whose pollen is the dust of stars, whose petals 
The tissue of strange tears, desire and sleep. 



HE. 

We talk of roses, meaning all things fair 
And rare and enigmatic ; but the rose 
Transcending all, the Rose of Life, is you ! 
6 



ON THE UPPER DECK 

O Rose^ blossom of wonder^ dark blossom of ancient 

dream^ 
Wan tides of the Wandering Sorrow through 

your deep slumber stream ; 
Warm winds of the Wavering Passion are lost in 

your crimson fold^ 
And memory and foreboding at the hush of your 

heart lie cold. 

O Rose^ blossom of mystery^ holding within your 
deeps 

The hurt of a thousand vigils^ the heal of a thou- 
sand sleeps^ 

There breathes upon your petals a power from the 
ends of earth. 

Tour beauty is heavy with knowledge of life and 
death and birth. 



ON THE UPPER DECK 

O Rosey blossom of longing — the faint suspense^ 

and the fir e^ 
The wistfulness of time^ and the unassuaged de- 

sire. 
The pity of tears on the pillow, the pang of tears 

unshed — 
With these your spirit is weary, with these your 

beauty is fed. 

SHE. 

Woman or rose, your verses do her credit, 
Barring some small confusion in the figure. 



HE. 

'Tis fusion, not confusion. So the rose 
Be beautiful enough, and strange enough. 
Love in his haste may take its sweet for you ; 
And sun and rain, wise gardeners, seeing you 
With face uplift, will know the rose you are. 
8 



ON THE UPPER DECK 
SHE. 

Let us not talk of roses. Don't you think 
The engines' pulse throbs louder now the light 
Has gone ? The hiss of water past our hull 
Is more mysterious, with a menace in it ? 
And that pale streak above the unseen land, 
How ominous ! A sword has just such pallor ! 
(Yes, you may put the scarf around my shoul- 
ders.) 
Never has life shown me the face of beauty 
But near it I have seen the fear of fear. 

HE. 

I knew not fear until I knew your beauty. 

SHE. 

Let us not talk of me. Look down, close in. 
There where the night-black water breaks and 
seethes. 

9 



ON THE UPPER DECK 

How its heart, torn and shuddering, burns to 

splendour ! 
What climbing lights ! What rapture of white 

fire! 
Clear souls of flame returning to the infinite ! 



HE. 

If you should ever come to say " I love you," 
I think that even thus my life's dark tide 
Would flame to sudden glory, and the gloom 
Of long grief lift forever ! Dear, your eyes. 
Your great eyes, shine upon me, soft as with 

tears. 
Your shoulder touches me. What does it 

mean ? 
I hold you to me. Is it love — and life ? 



ON THE UPPER DECK 
SHE. 

Let US not talk of — love ! I know so little 
Of love ! I only know that life wears not 
The face of beauty, but the face of fear. 
The face of fear is gone. The face of beauty 
Comes when you hold me so ! Help me to 

live ! 
Help me to live, and hold me from the terror ! 



II 



O LITTLE ROSE, O DARK 
ROSE. 

little rose, O dark rose. 
With smouldering petals curled, 

1 am the wind that comes for you 
From the other side of the world. 

little rose, O dark rose, 

With the hushed and golden heart, 

1 am your bee with burdened wings. 
Too laden to depart. 

little rose, O dark rose. 
Your soul a seed of fire, 

1 am the dew that dies in you, 
In the flame of your desire. 

12 



O LITTLE ROSE, O DARK ROSE 

little rose, O dark rose, 
The madness of your breath ! 

1 am the moth to drain your sweet, 
Even though the dregs be death. 

little rose, O dark rose, 
When the garden day is done 

1 am the dusk that broods o'er you 
Until the morrow's sun. 



13 



THE ROSE OF MY DESIRE. 

O wild, dark flower of woman, 
Deep rose of my desire. 
An eastern wizard made you 
Of earth and stars and fire. 

When the orange moon swung low 
Over the camphor-trees, 
By the silver shaft of the fountain 
He wrought his mysteries. 

The hot, sweet mould of the garden 
He took from a secret place 
To become your glimmering body 
And the lure of your strange face. 



14 



THE ROSE OF MY DESIRE 

From the swoon of the tropic heaven 
He drew down star on star, 
And breathed them into your soul 
That your soul might wander far — 

On earth forever homeless, 
But intimate of the spheres, 
A pang in your mystic laughter, 
A portent in your tears. 

From the night's heat, hushed, electric, 
He summoned a shifting flame, 
And cherished it, and blew on it 
Till it burned into your name. 

And he set the name in my heart 
For an unextinguished fire, 
O wild, dark flower of woman. 
Deep rose of my desire. 



IS 



HOW LITTLE I KNEW. 

How little I knew, when I first saw you, 
And your eyes for a moment questioned mine, 
It amounted to this, — that the dawn and the 

dew. 
The midnight's dark, and the midnoon's shine. 
The awe of the silent, soaring peak. 
The harebell's blue, and the cloud in the blue, 
And all the beauty I sing and seek. 
Would come to mean — just you ! 

Yet I might have known ; for that one deep 

look 
Which you gave me from under your hat's 

low brim 
Months afterward in my memory shook 
And made my pulses swim. 
i6 



HOW LITTLE I KNEW 

It will burn in my heart the long years through ; 
And when this life of the flesh is done 
I will open my heart and show it to you 
In the world beyond the sun. 



17 



THE ROSE'S AVATAR. 

There grew a rose more wonderful 

Than ever Saadi sang. 

Its loveliness occult and strange, 

A rapture and a pang. 

Its petals had the pulsing touch 

That shakes the blood with fire. 

Its warm deeps were the avatar 

Of unassuaged desire. 

Hid scents and hushed seraglio dreams 

Were in its subtle breath, 

The madness of the Maenad's joy. 

The tenderness of death. 

Its soul was all the mystic East, 

Its heart was all the South, — 

Till love and tears transmuted it 

To the dark rose of thy mouth. 



i8 



THE COVERT. 

Sharp drives the rain for me, 
Bitter the long night's pain for me, 
Bitter the dawn's disdain for me. 
And breath so vain a prayer! 

But open your heart and let me in. 
The deep of your soul, oh, set me in ! 
And sorrow of life shall forget me in 
The hiding of your hair ! 



19 



THE ROSE OF LIFE. 

The Rose spoke in the garden : 

" Why am I sad ? 

The vast of sky above me 

Is blue and glad ; 

The hushed deep of my heart 

Hath the sun's gold ; 

The dew slumbers till noon 

In my petals' hold. 

Beauty I have, and wisdom, 

And love I know, 

Yet cannot release my spirit 

Of its strange woe." 

Then a Wind, older than Time, 
Wiser than Sleep, 

20 



THE ROSE OF LIFE 



Answered : " The whole world's sorrow 

Is yours to keep. 

Its dark descends upon you 

At day's high noon ; 

Its pallor is whitening about you 

From every moon ; 

The cries of a thousand lovers, 

A thousand slain, 

The tears of all the forgotten 

Who kissed in vain, 

And the journeying years that have vanished 

Have left on you 

The witness, each, of its pain. 

Ancient, yet new. 

So many lives you have lived -, 

So many a star 

Hath veered in the Signs to make you 

The wonder you are ! 

And this is the price of your beauty : 

Your wild soul is thronged 



THE ROSE OF LIFE 



With the phantoms of joy unfulfilled 

That beauty hath wronged, 

With the pangs of all secret betrayals, 

The ghosts of desire, 

The bite of old flame, and the chill 

Of the ashes of fire." 



THE FEAR OF LOVE. 

Oh, take me into the still places of your heart, 
And hide me under the night of your deep hair ; 
For the fear of love is upon me ; 
I am afraid lest God should discover the wonder- 
fulness of our love. 

Shall I find life but to lose it ? 

Shall I stretch out my hands at last to joy. 

And take but the irremediable anguish ? 

For the cost of heaven is the fear of hell ; 

The terrible cost of love 

Is the fear to be cast out therefrom. 

Oh, touch me ! Oh, look upon me ! 
Look upon my spirit with your eyes, 
23 



THE FEAR OF LOVE 

And touch me with the benediction of your 

hands ! 
Breathe upon me, breathe upon me, 
And my soul shall live. 
Kiss me with your mouth upon my mouth 
And I shall be strong. 



24 



THE WISDOM OF LOVE. 

My life she takes between her hands j 
My spirit at her feet 
Is taught the lore inscrutable, 
The wisdom bitter sweet. 

The world becomes a little thing; 
Art, travel, music, men. 
And all that these can ever give 
Are in her brow's white ken. 

I look into her eyes and learn 

The mystery of tears ; 

The pang of doubt ; the doom that haunts 

The fleeting of the years ; 



25 



THE WISDOM OF LOVE 

And pale foreknowledge, hid from all 
But those who fear to know ; 
And memory's treason, that betrays 
Joy to the nameless woe ; 

Compassion, like the rain of spring ; 
And truth without a flaw ; 
And one great gladness, hushed and still 
With love's initiate awe. 

In her deep hair I hide my heart ; 
And in that scented shade 
I sail sleep's immemorial sea, 
Expectant, unafraid ; 

And take the enigmatic word 
Of dream upon my breath, 
And learn the secrecy of joy. 
The long content of death. 



26 






THE WISDOM OF LOVE 

Her sad mouth, scarlet, passionate. 
Shows me the world's desire. 
The mirth that is the mask of pain. 
And that immortal fire 

Drawn by the touch of kiss on kiss 
From life's eternal core. 
Frail, flickering, mordant, keen, unquenched 
When time shall be no more. 

Then worship, love's last wisdom, learned, 

I bow my spirit there. 

And let my soul in silence plead 

The passion which is prayer. 



27 



AWAY, SAD VOICES. 

Away, sad voices, telling 
Of old, forgotten pain ! 
My heart, at grief rebelling. 
To joy returns again. 

My life, at tears protesting. 
To long delight returns. 
Where, close of all my questing. 
Her dear eyes love discerns. 



28 



ATTAR. 

The dark rose of your mouth 
Is summer and the south to me j 
The attar of desire and dream 
Its tendernesses seem to me. 

The clear deep of your eyes 
A lure of wonder lies to me, 
Whereto my longing soul descends 
While love comes by and bends to me. 

The hushed night of your hair 
Breathes an enchanted air to me — 
Strange heats from many a mystic clime 
And far-ofF, perished time to me. 



29 



ATTAR 



The pulses of your throat, 
What madness they denote to me, — 
Passion, and hunger, and despair. 
And ecstasy, and prayer to me ! 

The dusk bloom of your flesh 
Is as a magic mesh to me. 
Wherein our spirits lie ensnared. 
Your wild, wild beauty bared to me. 

The white flower of your feet. 
How sacred and how sweet to me ! 
From some close-hung and cloistered shrine 
Borne to make life divine to me. 



30 



INVOCATION. 

Voice, 

Whose sound is as the falling of the rain 
On harp-strings strung in casements by the sea, 
Low with all passion, poignant with all pain. 
In dreams, out of thy distance, come to me. 

1 hear no music if I hear not thee. 

O Hands, 

Whose touch is like the balm of apple-bloom 
Brushed by the winds of April from the bough, 
Amid the passionate memories of this room 
Flower out, sweet hands, a presence in the 

gloom. 
And touch my longing mouth and cool my 

brow. 

31 



INVOCATION 



O Eyes, 

Whose least look is a flame within my soul, 
(Still burns that first long look, across the years !) 
Lure of my life, and my desire's control. 
Illume me and my darkness disappears. 
Seeing you not, my eyes see naught for tears. 

O Lips, 

The rose's lovelier sisters, you whose breath 

Seems the consummate spirit of the rose — 

Honey and fire, delirium and repose. 

And that long dream of love that laughs at 

death — 
All these, all these your scarlet blooms enclose. 

O Hair, 

Whose shadows hold the mystery of a shrine 
Heavy with vows and worship, where the pale 
Priests who pour out their souls in incense pine 



32 



INVOCATION 



For dead loves unforgot — be thou the veil 
To my heart's altar, secret and divine. 

O Voice, O Hands, O Eyes, O Lips, O Hair, 
Of your strange beauty God Himself hath care, 
So deep the riddle He hath wrought therein — 
Whether for love's delight, or love's despair. 



33 



THE HOUSE. 

My heart is a house, deep-walled and warm, 
To cover you from the night of storm. 

O little wild feet, too softly white 
To roam the world's tempestuous night, 
The years like sleet on my windows beat, — 
Come in and be cherished, O little wild feet. 
My heart is a house, deep-walled and warm, 
To cover you from the night of storm. 

In the hillside hollow each lonely flower 
Is closed against the disastrous hour. 
The wet crow rocks in the wind-blown tree ; 
The tern drives in from the lashing sea. 



34 



THE HOUSE 



My heart is a house, deep-walled and warm, 
To cover you from the night of storm. 

Down from the naked heights of cloud 

Care and despair cry low, cry loud. 

The dark woods mutter with thronging fears ; 

The rocks are drenched with the rain of tears. 
My heart is a house, deep-walled and warm. 
To cover you from the night of storm. 

O little dark head, too dear and fair 
For the buffeting skies and the bitter air. 
Time sweeps the wold with his wings of dread, — 
Come in and be comforted, little dark head. 
My heart is a house, deep-walled and warm. 
To cover you from the night of storm. 



35 



PART II. 
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



37 



THE STRANDED SHIP. 

Far up the lonely strand the storm had lifted her. 
And now along her keel the merry tides make 

stir 
No more. The running waves that sparkled 

at her prow 
Seethe to the chains and sing no more with 

laughter now. 
No more the clean sea-furrow follows her. No 

more 
To the hum of her gallant tackle the hale Nor'- 

westers roar. 
No more her bulwarks journey. For the only 

boon they crave 
Is the guerdon of all good ships and true, the 

boon of a deep-sea grave. 
39 



THE STRANDED SHIP 

Take me out^ sink me deep in the green pro- 
found^ 

To sway with the long weed^ swing with the 
drowned^ 

Where the change of the soft tide makes no 
sound^ 

Far below the keels of the outward bound. 

No more she mounts the circles from Fundy to 

the Horn, 
From Cuba to the Cape runs down the tropic 

morn, 
Explores the Vast Uncharted where great bergs 

ride in ranks. 
Nor shouts a broad " Ahoy " to the dories on 

the Banks. 
No more she races freights to Zanzibar and 

back, 
Nor creeps where the fog lies blind along the 

liners' track, 

40 



THE STRANDED SHIP 

No more she dares the cyclone's disastrous core 

of calm 
To greet across the dropping wave the amber 
isles of palm. 

Take me out^ sink me deep in the green pro- 
found^ 

To sway with the long weed^ swing with the 
drowned^ 

Where the change of the soft tide makes no 
sound^ 

Far below the keels of the outward bound. 

Amid her trafficking peers, the wind-wise, 

journeyed ships. 
At the black wharves no more, nor at the 

weedy slips, 
She comes to port with cargo from many a 

storied clime. 
No more to the rough-throat chantey her 

windlass creaks in time. 
41 



THE STRANDED SHIP 

No more she loads for London with spices 

from Ceylon, — 
With white spruce deals and wheat and apples 

from St. John. 
No more from Pernambuco with cotton-bales, 

— no more 
With hides from Buenos Ayres she clears for 
Baltimore. 
Take me out^ sink me deep in the green pro- 
found^ 
To sway with the long weed,, swing with the 

drowned^ 
Where the change of the soft tide makes no 

sound^ 
Far below the keels of the outward hound. 

Wan with the slow vicissitudes of wind and 

rain and sun 
How grieves her deck for the sailors whose 

hearty brawls are done ! 

42 



THE STRANDED SHIP 

Only the wandering gull brings word of the 

open wave, 
With shrill scream at her tafFrail deriding her 

alien grave. 
Around the keel that raced the dolphin and the 

shark 
Only the sand-wren twitters from barren dawn 

till dark ; 
And all the long blank noon the blank sand 

chafes and mars 
The prow once swift to follow the lure of the 
dancing stars. 
Take me out^ sink me deep in the green pro- 
found^ 
To sway with the long weed^ swing with the 

drowned^ 
Where the change of the soft tide makes no 

sound^ 
Far below the keels of the outward bound. 



43 



THE STRANDED SHIP 

And when the winds are low, and when the 
tides are still, 

And the round moon rises inland over the 
naked hill. 

And o'er her parching seams the dry cloud- 
shadows pass, 

And dry along the land-rim lie the shadows of 
thin grass. 

Then aches her soul with longing to launch and 
sink away 

Where the fine silts lift and settle, the sea- 
things drift and stray. 

To make the port of Last Desire, and slumber 
with her peers 

In the tide-wash rocking softly through the un- 
numbered years. 
Take me out^ sink me deep in the green pro- 
found^ 
To sway with the long weed^ swing with the 
drowned^ 

44 



HE STRANDED SHIP 



Where the change of the soft tide makes no 

sound^ 
Far below the keels of the outward bound. 



45 



THE PIPERS OF THE POOLS. 

i 



Pipers of the chilly pools 
Pipe the April in. 
Summon all the singing hosts, 
All the wilding kin. 

Through the cool and teeming damp 
Of the twilight air 
Call till all the April children 
Answer everywhere. 

From your cold and fluting throats 
Pipe the world awake, 
Pipe the mould to move again. 
Pipe the sod to break. 



46 



A 



THE PIPERS OF THE POOLS 

Pipe the mating song of earth 
And the fecund fire, — 
Love and laughter, pang and dream. 
Desire, desire, desire. 

Then a wonder shall appear. 

Miracle of time : 

Up through root and germ and sapwood 

Life shall climb, and climb. 

Then the hiding things shall hear you 
And the sleeping stir. 
And the far-ofF troops of exile 
Gather to confer ; 

Then the rain shall kiss the bud 
And the sun the bee. 
Till they all, the painted children 
Flower and wing get free ; 



47 



THE PIPERS OF THE POOLS 

And amid the shining grass 
Ephemera arise, 

And the windflowers in the hollow 
Open starry eyes ; 

And delight comes in to whisper — 
" Soon, soon, soon 
Earth shall be but one wild blossom 
Breathing to the moon ! " 



48 



THE FIRST PLOUGHING. 

Calls the crow from the pine-tree top 

When the April air is still. 

He calls to the farmer hitching his team 

In the farmyard under the hill. 

" Come up," he cries, " come out and come up, 

For the high field's ripe to till. 

Don't wait for word from the dandelion 

Or leave from the daffodil." 

Cheeps the flycatcher — " Here old earth 
Warms up in the April sun ; 
And the first ephemera, wings yet wet. 
From the mould creep one by one. 



49 



THE FIRST PLOUGHING 

Under the fence where the flies frequent 
Is the earliest gossamer spun. 
Come up from the damp of the valley lands, 
For here the winter's done." 

Whistles the high-hole out of the grove 

His summoning loud and clear : 

" Chilly it may be down your way 

But the high south field has cheer. 

On the sunward side of the chestnut stump 

The woodgrubs wake and appear. 

Come out to your ploughing, come up to your 

ploughing. 
The time for ploughing is here." 

Then dips the coulter and drives the share. 
And the furrows faintly steam. 
The crow drifts furtively down from the pine 
To follow the clanking team. 



50 



THE FIRST PLOUGHING 



The flycatcher tumbles, the high-hole darts 
In the young noon's yellow gleam ; 
And wholesome sweet the smell of the sod 
Upturned from its winter's dream. 



THE NATIVE. 

Rocks, I am one with you ; 
Sea, I am yours. 
Your rages come and go. 
Your strength endures. 

Passion may burn and fade; 
Pain surge and cease. 
My still soul rests unchanged 
Through storm and peace. 

Fir-tree, beaten by wind, 
Sombre, austere. 
Your sap is in my veins, 
O kinsman dear. 



52 



THE NATIVE 



Your fibres rude and true 
My sinews feed — 
Sprung of the same bleak earth, 
The same rough seed. 

The tempest harries us. 
It raves and dies ; 
And wild limbs rest again 
Under wide skies. 

Grass, that the salt hath scourged, 
Dauntless and grey. 
Though the harsh season chide 
Your scant array. 

Year by year you return 
To conquer fate. 
The clean life nourishing you 
Makes me, too, great. 



53 



THE NATIVE 



O rocks, O fir-tree brave, 
O grass and sea ! 
Your strength is mine, and you 
Endure with me. 



54 



COAL. 

Deep in the hush of those unfathomed glooms 
Whereunder steamed the wet and pregnant 

earth, 
Pulsing thick sap and pungent, hot perfumes, 
This providence of unguessed needs had birth. 
From drench of the innumerable rain 
And drowse of unrecorded noon on noon 
It sucked the heat and plucked the light, to 

gain 
For times unborn a boon. 



55 



l.ofC. 



NEW DEAD. 

Where are the kind eyes gone 
That watched me so ? 
Was it but now they wept, 
Or long ago ? 

Why did they run with tears 
And yearn to me ? 
What was it in my face 
They feared to see ? 

Ah, world, when did I pass 
Beyond your smile, — 
Forget you, for a long 
Or little while ? 



56 



NEW DEAD 



Descending from the sun 
Into this night, — 
Impenetrable dark 
That chokes my sight, — 

Ah, now I know why stirs 
No more my breath ! 
My mouth is stopt with dust. 
My dream with death. 

Where is this seed of self 
I clutch to hold ? 
Will it dissolve with me 
Into the mould ? 

It slips, — ah, let me sleep. 
Worn, worn, outworn ! 
So to be strong when I 
Arise, new born ! 



57 



CHILD OF THE INFINITE. 

Sun, and Moon, and Wind, and Flame, 
Dust, and Dew, and Day and Night, — 
Ye endure. Shall I endure not. 
Though so fleeting in your sight ? 
Ye return. Shall I return not. 
Flesh, or in the flesh's despite ? 
Ye are mighty. But I hold you 
Compassed in a vaster might. 

Sun, before your flaming circuit 
Smote upon the uncumbered dark, 
I, within the Thought Eternal 
Palpitant, a quenchless spark. 
Watched while God awoke and set you 
For a measure and a mark. 
58 



CHILD OF THE INFINITE 

Dove of Heaven, ere you brooded 
Whitely o'er the shoreless waste, 
And upon the driven waters 
Your austere enchantment placed, 
I was power in God's conception, 
Without rest and without haste. 

Breath of Time, before your whisper 
Wandered o'er the naked world, 
Ere your wrath from pole to tropic 
Running Alps of ocean hurled, 
I, the germ of storm in stillness, 
At the heart of God lay furled. 

Journeying Spirit, ere your tongues 
Taught the perished to aspire. 
Charged the clod, and called the mortal 
Through the reinitiant fire, 
I was of the fiery impulse 
Urging the Divine Desire, 
59 



CHILD OF THE INFINITE 

Seed of Earth, when down the void 
You were scattered from His hand. 
When the spinning clot contracted. 
Globed and greened at His command, 
I, behind the sifting fingers. 
Saw the scheme of beauty planned. 

Phantom of the Many Waters, 

When no more you fleet and fall. 

When no more your round you follow, 

Infinite, ephemeral. 

At the feet of the Unsleeping 

I shall toss you like a ball. 

Rolling Masks of Life and Death, 
When no more your ancient place 
Knows you, when your light and darkness 
Swing no longer over space, 
My remembrance shall restore you 
To the favour of His face. 
60 



A REMORSE. 

I dreamed last night my love was dead. 
The dreadful thing was this ! — 
Not that my lips would feel no more 
The kindness of her kiss ; 
Not that my feet the weary years 
Would go uncomraded ; 
Not that of all my love for her 
So much remained unsaid ; — 
But, sickening, I remembered how 
I had been false to her ! 
" O God ! " I cried aloud — " She knows 
I have been false to her ! " 



6i 



THE CONSPIRATORS. 

Come, Death, sit down with me. 
Thou and Love, we three 
In a sad conspiracy 
Against life, our enemy. 

Thine, Death, the briefer score, 

Though she hate thee evermore. 

Hate of hers is less sore 

Than her treasons honeyed o'er 

With old, sweet lies and false, sweet lore. 

Whom she hurts thou healest, Death. 

That is what she hates thee for. 

Thine, Love, the bitterer plaint. 

She has kissed thee, fooled thee, shamed thee, 

62 



THE CONSPIRATORS 



Clasped thee, and disclaimed thee. 
Found thee white, child and saint, 
Left thee with the world's taint. 
Found thee strong, left thee faint. 
Used thee, and defamed thee 

I, who love life, needs must live ; 
But, loving most, can least forgive. 

Leave her. Love ! Forsake her. Death ! 
So shall men come to curse their breath ! 



63 



HEAT IN THE CITY. 

Over the scorching roofs of iron 
The red moon rises slow. 
Uncomforted beneath its light 
The pale crowds gasping go. 

The heart-sick city, spent with day, 
Cries out in vain for sleep. 
The childless wife beside her dead 
Is too outworn to weep. 

The children in the upper rooms 
Lie faint, with half-shut eyes. 
In the thick-breathing, lighted ward 
The stricken workman dies. 



64 



HEAT IN THE CITY 



From breathless pit and sweltering loft 
Dim shapes creep one by one 
To throng the curb and crowd the stoops 
And fear to-morrow's sun. 



65 



THE GREAT AND THE 
LITTLE WEAVERS. 

The great and the little weavers, 
They neither rest nor sleep. 
They work in the height and the glory, 
They toil in the dark and the deep. 

The rainbow melts with the shower, 
The white-thorn falls in the gust. 
The cloud-rose dies into shadow. 
The earth-rose dies into dust. 

But they have not faded forever. 
They have not flowered in vain. 
For the great and the little weavers 
Are weaving under the rain. 



66 



GREAT AND LITTLE WEAVERS 

Recede the drums of the thunder 
When the Titan chorus tires, 
And the bird-song piercing the sunset 
Faints with the sunset fires, 

But the trump of the storm shall fail not, 
Nor the flute-cry fail of the thrush. 
For the great and the little weavers 
Are weaving under the hush. 

The comet flares into darkness, 
The flame dissolves into death, 
The power of the star and the dew 
They grow and are gone like a breath, 

But ere yet the old wonder is done 
Is the new-old wonder begun. 
For the great and the little weavers 
Are weaving under the sun. 



67 



GREAT AND LITTLE WEAVERS 

The domes of an empire crumble, 
A child's hope dies in tears ; 
Time rolls them away forgotten 
In the silt of the flooding years ; 

The creed for which men died smiling 
Decays to a beldame's curse ; 
The love that made lips immortal 
Drags by in a tattered hearse. 

But not till the search of the moon 
Sees the last white face uplift, 
And over the bones of the kindreds 
The bare sands dredge and drift. 

Shall Love forget to return 

And lift the unused latch, 

(In his eyes the look of the traveller, 

On his Hps the foreign catch). 



68 



GREAT AND LITTLE WEAVERS 



Nor the mad song leave men cold, 
Nor the high dream summon in vain, — 
For the great and the little weavers 
Are weaving in heart and brain. 



69 



LINES FOR AN OMAR 
PUNCH-BOWL. 

TO C. B. 

Omar, dying, left his dust 
To the rose and vine in trust. 



" Through a thousand springs " — said he, 
" Mix your memories with me. 

" Fire the sap that fills each bud 
With an essence from my blood. 

" When the garden glows with June 
Use me through the scented noon. 



70 



LINES FOR AN OMAR PUNCH-BOWL 



" Till the heat's alchemic art 
Fashions me in every part. 

" You, whose petals strew the grass 
Round my lone, inverted glass, 

" Each impassioned atom mould 
To a red bloom with core of gold. 

" You, whose tendrils, soft as tears. 
Touch me with remembered years, 

" When your globing clusters shine, 
Slow distil my dreams to wine, 

" Till by many a sweet rebirth 
Love and joy transmute my earth, 

" Changing me, on some far day. 
To a more ecstatic clay, 

71 



LINES FOR AN OMAR PUNCH-BOWL 

" Whence the Potter's craft sublime 
Shall mould a shape to outlast Time.'* 



Omar's body, Omar's soul, 
Breathe in beauty from this bowl. 

At whose thronged, mysterious rim 
Wan desires, enchantments dim. 

Tears and laughter, life and death. 
Fleeing love and fainting breath. 

Seem to waver like a flame, 
Dissolve, — yet ever rest the same. 

Fixed by your art, while art shall be, 
In passionate immobility. 



72 



SHEPHERDESS FAIR. 

O shepherdess fair, the flocks you keep 
Are dreams and desires and tears and sleep. 

O shepherdess brown, O shepherdess fair, 
Where are my flocks you have in care ? 

My wonderful, white, wide-pasturing sheep 
Of dream and desire and tears and sleep ? 

Many the flocks, but small the care 

You give to their keeping, O shepherdess fair ! 

O shepherdess gay, your flocks have fed 
By the iris pool, by the safFron bed. 



73 



SHEPHERDESS FAIR 



Till now by noon they have wandered far, 
And you have forgotten where they are ! 

O shepherdess fair, O shepherdess wild. 
Full wise are your flocks, but you a child ! 

You shall not be chid if you let them stray. 
In your own wild way, in your own child way, 
You will call them all back at the close of day. 



74 



THE PIPER AND THE 
CHIMING PEAS. 

There was a little piper man 

As merry as you please. 

Who heard one day the sweet-pea blossoms 

Chiming in the breeze. 

He murmured with a courtly grace 
That set them quite at ease, — 
" I never knew that you had such 
Accomplishments as these ! 

" If I should pipe until you're ripe 
I think that by degrees 
You might become as wise as I 
And chime in Wagnerese ! " 
75 



PIPER AND THE CHIMING PEAS 



" Oh, no, kind Sir ! That couJd not be ! 

Replied the modest peas. 

" We only play such simple airs 

As suit the bumble-bees." 



1^^ 



WHEN MARY THE MOTHER 
KISSED THE CHILD. 

When Mary the Mother kissed the Child 
And night on the wintry hills grew mild, 
And the strange star swung from the courts of 

air 
To serve at a manger with kings in prayer, 
Then did the day of the simple kin 
And the unregarded folk begin. 

When Mary the Mother forgot the pain, 
In the stable of rock began love's reign. 
When that new light on their grave eyes broke 
The oxen were glad and forgot their yoke ; 
And the huddled sheep in the far hill fold 
Stirred in their sleep and felt no cold. 

n 



MARY THE MOTHER KISSED THE CHILD 

When Mary the Mother gave of her breast 
To the poor inn's latest and lowliest guest, — . 
The God born out of the woman's side, — 
The Babe of Heaven by Earth denied, — 
Then did the hurt ones cease to moan. 
And the long-supplanted came to their own. 

When Mary the Mother felt faint hands 
Beat at her bosom with life's demands. 
And nought to her were the kneeling kings, 
The serving star and the half-seen wings. 
Then was the little of earth made great. 
And the man came back to the God's estate. 



78 



AT THE WAYSIDE SHRINE. 

(STE. ANNE DE BEAUPRE.) 

So little and so kind a shrine ! 
So homely and serene a saint ! — 
No violent sorrow can be thine, 
Thou patient pensioner of constraint ! 

This gentle gloom that wraps thee in 
Mistaking for a soul's despair, 
Thou griev'st, perchance, for some small sin, 
Too trivial for such fervent prayer. 

Not sin hath wanned thy weary face. 
Nor living woe made dark thine eyes. 
Nor memory wrought this pleading grace, — 
But ignorance, and dumb surmise. 
79 



AT THE WAYSIDE SHRINE 

The bleeding feet of shameful pain 
Have passed not up this tranquil way, 
Nor late repentance, haply vain. 
By these slim poplars knelt to pray. 

Thine is the sadness of the breast 
That has not known the human strife — 
Weighed down with shelter, worn with rest, 
Athirst for the free storms of life. 

Thine is the ache of lips that ache 
For unknown pangs, unknown delight, — 
The emptiness of hearts that break 
With dreaming through the empty night. 

Thy woe thou canst not understand, 
Poor soul and body incomplete ! 
Thou hungerest for a little hand 
And touch of little unknown feet. 



80 



AT THE WAYSIDE SHRINE 



But now, because all sorrows cease 
Assuaged by such sweet faith as thine, 
The dear Saint Anne shall give thee peace 
Here at her little, kindly shrine. 



8i 



THE AIM. 

Thou who lovest not alone 
The swift success, the instant goal, 
But hast a lenient eye to mark 
The failures of the inconstant soul. 

Consider not my little worth, — 

The mean achievement, scamped in act, 

The high resolve and low result. 

The dream that durst not face the fact. 

But count the reach of my desire. 
Let this be something in thy sight : — 

1 have not, in the slothful dark. 
Forgot the Vision and the Height. 



XI 07 



THE AIM 



Neither my body nor my soul 
To earth's low ease will yield consent. 
I praise Thee for my will to strive. 
I bless Thy goad of discontent. 



83 













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